


Rodney's case

by Tomo



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5138714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomo/pseuds/Tomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They couldn’t say exactly what was wrong with Rodney…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rodney's case

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by (not completely based on) the short story Paul’s Case by Willa Cather. If you haven’t read it already I highly recommend it. It’s been one of my favorite stories since high school and I never get tired of it.
> 
> Originally posted to LJ in 2008 and recently edited

It was time for Rodney to appear before the faculty of his school. He had been suspended the week before for various transgressions; correcting his teachers, talking back in class, he had even pulled the chalk out of his math teacher’s hand and reworked the equation she had written on the board. Apparently that was frowned upon, even though she had been terribly wrong.

 

His teachers couldn’t say exactly what was wrong with Rodney. He was silently defiant, contemptuous; he didn’t belong among them and did nothing to conceal the fact. Even as he sat before them with a smile on his face his eyes held a faintly disdainful glare.

 

“Do you know why you’re here, Rodney?”

 

Rodney pursed his lips and bit back any number of derisive answers before he stated politely, “I’d like to come back to school, please.” The _please_ was almost mocking, rolling off of Rodney’s tongue as if he had spit at them instead.

 

With that they descended upon him without mercy, listing reasons he shouldn’t be allowed back. They pointed out every wrongdoing and personality flaw. Tougher boys had broken down in tears at such an onslaught, but Rodney just grimaced through it, his eyes distant, pupils large and eyes glassy as if drugged. He was in the room with them physically, but in his mind he was somewhere else entirely.

 

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

Rodney blinked a few times, coming back to himself. “I don’t know.” He swallowed. “I don’t mean to be polite or impolite. Maybe you’re just too sensitive?”

 

“McKay!” The principal slammed his hand down. “This is exactly what we are talking about.  You need to learn to take responsibility for your actions and show some respect for your teachers.”

 

Rodney winced. “S-sorry,” he mumbled. It was true that he had probably meant no harm, but he had caused it just the same. Rodney looked back up at the faculty and blinked. It was as if he were looking at a particularly boring exhibit at the zoo. He spoke slowly, stilted, as if he were biting back any number of insults. “I’ll do my best to be respectful,” he said, but it was obvious he meant, “I’ll pretend.”

 

They dismissed him after that and Rodney pulled his coat on and walked out into the snowy afternoon.

 

***

 

Rodney stopped by the concert hall on his way home. He followed Teyla’s voice until it led him to the stage where she was practicing. She stopped singing and smiled when she saw Rodney. She motioned to the piano just offstage. “Play for me.”

 

Rodney ducked his head and smiled. He played a few notes before Teyla joined in and Rodney lost himself in the music.

 

***

 

“Your principal called.” His father didn’t look up from his paper when Rodney arrived home. “He was going to expel you for good but I managed to talk him out of it. Don’t screw up again. He made it very clear that this was your last chance.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Rodney’s father sighed and folded his paper. “I didn’t raise you to be a bum. You’re a smart boy Rodney. I don’t know why you keep messing up. If your mother were alive…”

 

He saw the flash of old guilt in his father’s eyes and then… nothing.

 

Rodney looked away. “I’ll get dinner ready.”

 

Once the roast was in the oven Rodney sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, knife in hand. There were still bits of carrot on it and he brushed them off carelessly, swiping two of his fingers across the blade. Rodney watched as the blood welled up. It hadn’t even hurt.

 

***

 

“Can I have money for cab fare?”

 

Rodney’s father put down his fork and reached for a napkin. “And just where are you going this late at night?”

 

“A friend’s.” Rodney stabbed at the meat on his plate. “He’s going to help me study.”

 

“And his parents don’t mind you going over this late?”

 

Rodney shook his head. “They’re expecting me.”

 

Rodney’s father sighed and reached into his pocket. “Don’t stay too late,” he said placing a few coins in Rodney’s hand. Rodney smiled and his father added, “I’m sure they don’t want you loafing there all hours of the night.”

 

Rodney’s smile faltered, “Yes, sir.”

 

***

 

Teyla was already onstage by the time he got to the theatre. She was ethereal and beautiful and he felt uplifted just being near her as she performed. She glanced at him and winked as she hit a high note and Rodney’s heart skipped a beat. She belonged up there and it showed. She was destined for greater things then the steel mills and soot covered streets of their dingy home town. It wouldn’t be long before she left him behind.

 

***

 

Rodney attended his classes with his usual punctuality and the bothersome air of distain that he never bothered to hide. His teachers were vexed to see that nothing had changed except that Rodney’s troublesome ways had grown slightly worse.

 

He spent his days looking out the window, mind probably somewhere over the Adriatic; too good, too smart, too damned _superior_ to be in a mere high school English class.

 

It drove Vernon Brown utterly mad when Rodney failed to turn in his assignment because, “Why bother? I know it all already. Go ahead, ask me anything.”

 

“Mister McKay, stay after class. I’d like to have a word with you.”

 

The taunting from his classmates wasn’t enough to make McKay actually _remember_ their meeting, so when he walked absently towards the door Vernon’s hand whipped out and wrapped tightly around the boy’s wrist. “I believe we had an appointment.”

 

“Let me go!” Rodney shouted, wrenching his arm back and kicking out with one foot. The violent outburst was so starling that Vernon actually grasped him tighter before pushing him down into a chair.

 

“McKay! Compose yourself!”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Rodney said, looking a little shocked at his own reaction. “I—I just. Don’t like to be touched.”

 

And for a reason that Vernon Brown never wanted to ponder over, this statement from Rodney enraged him to the point of complete irrationality. He reached out with his right hand and grasped McKay’s jaw tightly, lifting him out of his chair. When the boy reached up to defend himself from his would be attacker, his _teacher_ , Vernon grabbed that hand and twisted, pinning it behind Rodney’s back. Their bodies pressed together and Rodney squirmed, the touch obviously making his skin crawl.

 

“I don’t know what makes you think you’re so superior to the rest of us, McKay,” He twisted Rodney’s hand tighter, pulled it higher between the boy’s shoulder blades when he struggled to get away. “But I can tell you one thing; _you’re not_. You’re just an effete spineless boy who will probably end up under the wheels of a train the day you realize what a waste you’ve made of your life. And you know what? _No one_ _will_ _care_.”

 

The boy was shaking, his eyes were shut and his face was wet. He whispered, “Please, please,” over and over.

 

Vernon felt sick; ashamed of the way he’d reacted to a mere boy, but… he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He let Rodney go and snapped, “Dismissed.”

 

After Rodney scrambled out of the room Vernon sat with his head in his hands for a very long time.

 

 

***

 

Rodney had spent the better part of two years loitering around the concert hall. He would pass the bored looking doorman, who was more than often asleep, and shoot up the stairs towards Teyla and Aiden’s dressing rooms. He’d help Aiden dress in his complicated stage clothes and listen as Teyla warmed up her voice for that night’s performance.

 

They had adopted him into their inner circle and Ford had taken him on as his personal dresser. Rodney gladly volunteered and quickly lost himself in the urgency and magic of the theatre.

 

“Why don’t you audition?” Ford asked one night when Rodney was lingering around his dressing room, reluctant to go home.

 

There was a calendar on the wall with a photograph of a city street and a horse-drawn carriage. Rodney reached out and touched one of the buildings. “There’s no point.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ford grabbed the washcloth from his dressing table and wiped off his stage makeup. “You’ve got talent. You should do something with it.”

 

Rodney shrugged and smiled. “I don’t have the soul for it, not like you do.” He laughed to himself and looked out the window. “Sometimes I don’t think I have a soul at all.”

 

There was a talent scout in the audience one night and Aiden was whisked away to Hollywood or New York or one of a thousand other places Rodney would never go. He left without saying goodbye.

 

 

***

 

 

Matters at school grew steadily worse. Rodney showed up to his classes less and less frequently and his silent contempt had been replaced by outward hostility.

 

“Would anyone like to solve the problem I’ve written on the board?”

 

When no one raised a hand Mrs. Richmond pointed to Rodney and said. “You. Let’s see if you still have half a brain in there.”

 

She saw a muscle working in the boy’s jaw as if he were chewing. The class was laughing by the time he had taken the chalk from her and walked to the front of the room. He stood there for a few moments, hand steady as he printed in neat block letters, “GO TO HELL.”

 

He placed the chalk in Mrs. Richmond’s palm while she stood there dumbstruck and he walked out the door amidst his classmates’ hoots and laughter.

 

***

 

 

“You can’t go in.”

 

“But,” Rodney tried to sidestep the doorman. “Teyla is expecting me. Ask her, she’ll tell you.”

 

“You aren’t getting in there, kid. I have my orders.”

 

“You’re making a mistake.” He froze and looked into the doorman’s myopic eyes. “What orders?”

 

The doorman was silent, apparently bored with Rodney. “What orders?” Rodney shouted.

 

“Rodney.” Teyla’s gentle voice surprised him. How long had she been standing there watching him struggle?

 

“Teyla, what’s going on?” Rodney tried to keep his voice steady. “Tell him to let me in.”

 

Teyla shook her head and bit her lips. “Your father came by…”

 

The image of his father at the theatre was so out of place in Rodney’s mind that it took him a few moments to comprehend what Teyla was saying. “Did he pay you not to speak to me?”

 

Teyla looked away and he had all the answer he needed. “It is for the best, Rodney. You should not be wasting all your time here. There is so much you can do-”

 

“Shut up!” Rodney flinched at the way his voice broke. “Just stop. Don’t act like you did this for me.”

 

Teyla wrapped her arms around herself. “I am so sorry Rodney.”

 

It hurt to breathe, and Rodney wanted to stop.

 

 

***

 

“They won’t let you come back this time.” Rodney’s father was waiting at the top of the stairs when he got home that evening. “You won’t get anywhere without an education.”

 

Rodney tried to laugh but it caught in his throat. “I was never getting out of here anyway.”

 

“I got you a job with Carson. You start at six a.m. so I suggest you get to bed early. No more loafing around with your actor friends.”

 

“I don’t have any friends,” Rodney snapped, brushing past his father on his way upstairs. “You made sure of that.”

 

“I wish I’d known sooner.” He said. “Those degenerates cost you your education. And for what?” His father’s voice rose and Rodney clenched his fists. “A few songs? I thought you were smarter than that Rodney.”

 

“Smarter than what? _You_?” Rodney knew he had gone too far even before the words fell from his mouth. “Smart enough to know the difference between my own wife and a _burglar_ -”

 

Rodney felt the sting before he even realized he’d been slapped. He shut his eyes against the pain and said, “I wish you’d shot me instead of her.”

 

Rodney opened his eyes to the empty hall.

 

*******

 

Working for Carson was worse than school had ever been.

 

It seemed as if Carson didn’t even have a specific job for him. One day he would take inventory, the next he would be screwing the caps on bottles or writing invoices or sweeping. Whatever Carson didn’t feel like doing, Rodney did. The only part of his job that remained consistent was that at the end of the day Carson would place the deposit in Rodney’s hand and send him to the bank.

 

Day after day he would take the money to the bank and then walk home. After nearly a month his routine was broken by a couple of grubby faced children blocking his path.

 

“Hey mister, where are you going?”

 

Rodney cringed and stepped around the little urchin who had asked the question. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a couple jackanapes that were probably infested with lice and chiggers and God only knew what else.

 

“How come you walk this way every day?”

 

“If you must know,” Rodney started to walk a little faster. “I’m headed to the bank.”

 

“Why?” The boy, the bolder of the two, asked.

 

“I’m making a deposit,” Rodney snapped. “And don’t you think of robbing me either. I’m pretty sure I could take both of you.”

 

“What’s a deposit?” The girl asked. She was probably the younger sister by the looks of her.

 

“That means he’s got money,” The boy said in a lofty tone. “And he’s giving it to the bank.”

 

The girl’s jaw dropped. “What’s he doing that for?”

 

“Be _cause,_ ” the boy said and then faltered. “Mister, why don’t you just keep it?”

 

Rodney stopped suddenly and the children, jogging to keep up with him, collided with the backs of his legs.

 

“I…” Rodney blinked, clutching the money tighter. “I could just keep it.”

 

“You could give it to us,” The little girl suggested, wiping soot off her skirt.

 

Rodney reached out to ruffle her hair, thought better of it, and then continued on to the bank.

 

He could keep it. Once the idea was in his head he couldn’t shut it out, and he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to.

 

***

 

His father hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to him in weeks, which is why Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin when the man showed up at his bedroom door.

 

“Carson says you’re doing a fine job.”

 

Rodney dropped the book he’d been reading and sat up on his bed. He felt his mouth turn up a bit at the corner, almost like a smile. “He did? Did he say anything else--?”

 

“See that you don’t screw this up.”

 

Rodney froze. “Oh. Right. Okay.”

 

In a blink his father was gone.

 

***

 

It was colder than usual when Rodney made his way to the bank that day. He tucked the deposit into his breast pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, gloveless hands shoved into his armpits for warmth. The wind was blowing so hard he almost didn’t hear his name being called.

 

“Rodney? I am so glad to see you.”

 

“Teyla?” He looked up and she was there, a sad smile on her face.

 

She ran up and wrapped Rodney in awkward hug which was far too brief for him to return. “I did not think that I would ever see you again. I was worried I would not be able to say goodbye.”

 

“We’ve already said goodbye.” The wind was seeping through his thin coat and he just wanted to get away.

 

She looked shamed for a moment, but smiled sadly at him once again. “I suppose you are right, and I am sorry about that Rodney.” She sounded so sincere; it was like each word made another hollow aching spot spring up inside him. He had to get away.

 

He took a step back from her but she stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “I am leaving the country. There’s an opera house in Italy and…”

 

“Oh,” Another step back. Her hand was burning through his coat. “Congratulations. I-I have to go.”

 

“Wait, Rodney, please.” She took a step and closed the gap between them. “The way things ended between us… I have thought about it every day. I needed the money so _badly_ , but I never should have done that to you. I regretted it instantly. Please forgive me.”

 

Rodney nodded and took another step back. She was leaving him again and he just _couldn’t take it_. The wind stung his eyes and he looked away.

 

Teyla frowned.  “Can I write you?”

 

He nodded and she hugged him again. He froze in her arms but she held on until he awkwardly reached up and touched her back.  She kissed him on the cheek and left without saying another word.

 

He stood frozen in that spot for so long that the bank closed with Carson’s deposit still in his coat pocket.

 

 

***

 

That night, after he and his father had eaten their silent meal, Rodney crept upstairs and packed a suitcase.

 

His father didn’t notice Rodney was gone until dinner the next night went unmade.

 

 

*******

The last time Rodney had been on a train was when his mother was still alive. She was pregnant, his father sitting next to her; hand on her belly and a proud smile on his face.

 

“Rodney, come feel your little brother—”

 

“Or sister,” his mother interrupted with a smile.

 

“ _Brother,_ ” his father had insisted playfully. “Come feel him kick.”

 

Rodney placed his hand next to his father’s on his mother’s stomach and felt the strange fluttering there. When he looked up they were both smiling at him.

 

Rodney didn’t find out that it was a girl until he saw her name on the tombstone beneath his mother’s.

 

They were on their way home from a trip to his grandmother’s then. This time Rodney was headed for New York with a wallet full of Carson’s money. He slept though most of the trip.

 

***

Rodney walked into the first pawn shop he saw with his shoulders back and head held high. He did his best not to crumble under the look the man behind the counter shot him.

 

“Out late, aren’t you kid?”

 

Rodney gritted his teeth. “I’m in town on business and I don’t like the neighborhood. I need something for protection.”

 

The man chuckled. “Oh yeah?” He had tattoos on the backs of his hands, black and grey like cigarette ash that disappeared into the cuffs of his shirt. There was one creeping up the side of his neck and Rodney stared at it instead of the man’s eyes.

 

“Protection? You lookin’ for rubbers?” He chuckled at his own joke. “Because I got to tell you kid, its better without it.”

Rodney blushed and looked down. “I’ll take that one.” He said, tapping his finger against the glass countertop.

 

The man raised one eyebrow. “Need bullets to go with that?”

 

“Just one.”

 

***

Getting a hotel room was surprisingly easy. Rodney had an elaborate lie about his parents being along later in the week on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t need it. The man at the front desk just took his money without question and pointed Rodney in the direction of his room.

 

Once inside Rodney hung his shirts and slacks in the closet and put away his paltry things. The gun rested atop the dresser for a moment before being wrapped in an undershirt and placed back in the suitcase.  It would be there when he needed it.

 

***

 

Rodney quickly developed a routine. He’d sleep through most of the morning and at night he would walk to a jazz club a few blocks from his hotel.

It was different from any place he’d been to before. The music was wild and passionate, unlike the refined style of the concert hall back home.

 

People drank and danced and smoked. Once a woman had winked at him and Rodney felt himself blush hard.  He kept to himself at a table near the back of the club, rarely bothered by patrons who were too drunk or loud or brazen.

 

A woman’s voice flowed from the stage and Rodney thought of Teyla. It made his heart hurt. He wondered if she had written him and if his father would read the letters himself or hide them or... it didn’t matter. None of that mattered.

 

It had been eight days since he had last seen her, since he had left home, and he had no plans to ever go back. When he ran out of money… Rodney tried not to think about that.

 

A waitress came by and he ordered another drink. He was gingerly sipping it and feeling tipsy when someone sat down next to him. The man was wearing black, from the collar of his shirt to his shiny leather shoes. When he smiled Rodney could only blink in return.

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

Rodney shook his head mutely before finding his voice. “I suppose I can’t stop you.”

 

The man laughed. “No, I guess you can’t.” He waved the waitress over and ordered a beer. “And get my friend here another drink.”

 

Rodney shook his head but the waitress was already leaving. “I haven’t finished this one yet.”

 

The man shrugged and held out a hand. “Name’s John. The drink’s just my way of saying thanks for sharing your table.”

 

“Oh,” Rodney took a long draught of his glass. He’d feel bad if the stranger paid for something that he didn’t even touch. “I-I’m Rodney.” He reluctantly grasped John’s hand, his head spinning from the alcohol.

 

John’s smile was almost triumphant, his grip firm and warm and Rodney could feel the heat seeping into his skin, filling all those cold empty places inside him. He liked it.

 

“You new in town? I’ve never seen you here before.” John moved his chair closer to Rodney so he could face the stage. Their shoulders touched when John leaned back.

 

“Sort of.” Rodney almost said that he’d been at the club eight nights in a row, but held his tongue. It wouldn’t do for John to think him some sort of drunk. “I just moved to New York. With my family.”

 

“Oh yeah? What part of the city you living in?” John was asking him questions while staring at the stage distractedly.

 

“We’re, uh, staying with relatives until we find a house.”

 

“Oh yeah?” John asked coolly. “Where’d you move from?”

 

“Somewhere dreadfully boring.” Rodney shrugged. “We didn’t have places like this back home.”

 

The waitress came back with their drinks and John moaned low in his throat after he took a long swallow. “Oh, that’s good.”

 

“Thanks again,” Rodney said raising his drink. He hoped John wouldn’t notice that he hadn’t finished his other one.

 

“No problem.” John’s smile was brilliant and warm and Rodney could only smile back.

 

He closed his eyes then and listened to the piano accompaniment playing gently in the background. Rodney closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself playing, he put his hands on the table and mimed along with the pianist, imagined taking the man’s place with the female vocalist crooning passionately beside him.

 

“Do you play?”

 

Rodney felt himself flush, startled. “No.”

 

“Really?” John raised an eyebrow. “Because it seemed like you knew what you were doing just now.”

 

“Well, I don’t,” Rodney snapped.

 

“Sorry.” John’s hand slid onto his thigh under the table.

 

He was shocked at first, frozen. Usually the touch of another person was repulsive, made his skin crawl and his mind shout at him to flee, get away at all costs. John’s touch was different though. The alcohol made it seem bearable, almost _enjoyable_. They watched the stage together, John’s thumb rubbing tiny circles on his thigh.

 

“You ever think about learning to play?”

 

Rodney shook his head, annoyed with the line of questioning. “I-I don’t have time.”

 

“Oh?” John seemed to lean closer somehow, even though they were already shoulder to shoulder. “College?”

 

“No, just— _life_.” Rodney snapped.

 

“Relax.” John squeezed his thigh. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

 

“Sorry,” Rodney said, not quite understanding why he _was_ or why John was still talking to him, touching him. People couldn’t usually put up with him for that long, and the people who inexplicably _had_ were gone; Teyla, Aiden, his own mother. The list was short. He took another swallow of his drink.

 

“It’s okay,” John said and smiled.

 

Rodney relaxed and believed that was true.

 

After the singer finished her set and another one began John leaned in close and whispered to Rodney. “If you like, I can show you around the city sometime.”

 

He thought about how much money he had left and smiled. “I’d like that.” He could live another day, for John.

 

***

 

Rodney headed back to the hotel with a smile on his face. John had been amazing. They had talked for hours, mostly about music, and John had bought him two more drinks. He kept his hand on Rodney’s thigh, and had promised they would meet again.

 

By the time Rodney left the club he was pleasantly drunk and hopeful about the next night. A large hand clamped over his mouth and he was pulled bodily into an alley. It happened so fast, Rodney didn’t even struggle at first.

 

“Don’t fight, you’ll just hurt yourself.”

 

The body he was being held against was large and solid and even though he knew he didn’t have a chance Rodney twisted and bucked until the man tightened his grip painfully. “Let me rephrase that. Don’t fight or _I_ will hurt you.”

He was pushed face first into the brick wall in front of him, one of his mugger’s hands on the back of his neck. “Do not move,” he growled.

 

There was another man then, another set of hands searched him and pulled the wallet out of his coat pocket.

 

_‘Take it’_ he thought. ‘ _Just take it and go’_

“It’s him.”

 

The hand on the back of his neck disappeared but Rodney didn’t turn around. He was frozen, held in place by that voice.

 

“Rodney Mckay. You’re coming with us.”

 

“No.” Rodney closed his eyes. Even through his drunkenness and adrenaline he knew what was happening.

 

“I’m detective John Sheppard and this is my partner Ronon. Your father hired us to find you and bring you back home.”

 

“Please, don’t do this,” His mouth went dry and his nails bit into the palms of his hands. “I can’t go back. _Please_.”

 

“We have to,” John said coolly. “Or we don’t get paid.”

 

In his head there was a flash of metal, shiny and silver. “Fine,” he said and lowered his chin to his chest. “Fine. Just let me get my things.”

 

***

 

He was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating the second he heard John’s voice in the alley and he was freezing by the time they got back to his hotel room.  Rodney grabbed his suitcase shortly after they were through the door. “I have some things. In the bathroom.”

 

The sound of the bathroom door locking was shockingly loud in the tiny room. John and Ronon looked at each other and something clicked in John’s head. “Shit!”

 

Ronon was the first to move. He kicked the door hard and it swung in, breaking easily. The only thing John saw after that was Rodney kneeling on the floor, gun in his mouth and eyes closed.

 

John was frozen, helpless, paralyzed. Ronon yanked the gun away from Rodney and John snapped.

 

Two steps and he was crouched in front of the kid, hands fisted into the material of his shirt, shaking. “You stupid selfish punk.” John slapped him hard across the face before he could stop himself.  “You don’t know how good you had it. You have a father who loves you and he’s paying out the ass to get you back. He paid back all that money you stole and for what? So you could splatter your brains across some dingy hotel bathroom?” He shook the kid hard, slammed his back against the sink once, twice. He knew he was hurting Rodney but he just. Couldn’t. Stop.

 

“Please!” There were tears then, running down Rodney’s face, his eyes red rimmed but so _clear_. “I’m already dead just let me finish it.”

 

“You want to die? Fine.” John wrapped his fingers around the delicate column of Rodney’s neck, determined to make Rodney fight for his life.  The kid didn’t try to stop him, he almost looked _grateful_ and John’s vision went write around the edges. He squeezed harder and harder, so determined to make Rodney understand that he didn’t notice when Rodney clawed at his arms, eyes pleading for mercy.

 

“John, that’s enough!” But he still didn’t stop until Ronon dragged him off the kid and threw him across the room like a rag doll.

 

Rodney was dazed and gasping, clinging to Ronon like a lifeline, which John guessed he was. Ronon looked awkward, hand hovering over Rodney’s head before settling on his back with a brief pat.

 

John felt sick to his stomach. Rodney could have died and all he could say was. “I-I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

 

Rodney just nodded wide eyed and dazed.

 

“I’ll get him down to the car.” Ronon was already helping Rodney stand.

 

John nodded and it took him a good ten minutes after they left to get the shaking to stop.

 

***

 

By the time John got to the car Ronon and Rodney were already inside, Rodney asleep with his head on Ronon’s lap. Ronon touched Rodney’s forehead briefly, brushed away a stray hair and John felt a surge of _something_ rush through him, white and hot and _angry_. He tossed Rodney’s suitcase on the passenger seat and slammed the door. Rodney didn’t stir.

 

Ronon caught John’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are we doing the right thing?”

 

“We’re not getting paid to do the right thing.” He stabbed the keys into the ignition and started the car. Ronon raised an eyebrow at John in the rearview and John ignored it. “It doesn’t matter. It’s our job.”

 

It was pitch black out, like driving into obsidian, and the sun wouldn’t be up for hours. The night was cold, not unbearably so, but John’s palms were sweating on the steering wheel. He could still feel Rodney in his hands, skin warm and smooth. Too eager to die.

 

They switched off driving eventually with Ronon behind the wheel and John in the back with Rodney. The boy was curled up, asleep, facing the back of the seat. His neck was angled strangely and John reached down and gently maneuvered Rodney, careful not to wake him up, until his head was settled onto John’s lap like it had been on Ronon’s.

 

John looked down, touched Rodney’s face, skimmed over one of the small bruises on his neck and thought about how damn pretty he was. Carded his fingers through Rodney’s hair and wondered how the kid lasted so long alone in New York. He was lucky no one had taken advantage.

 

He carded his fingers though Rodney’s hair again and Rodney kind of… nuzzled him in his sleep. Instantly John’s dick was hard against Rodney’s cheek. He froze, tried so hard not to move, to thrust against that pretty face because it was _so wrong_. Rodney was _asleep_ for Christ sakes and Ronon would _murder_ him if he knew what he was thinking, but then all rational thought went right out the window when Rodney sighed in his sleep and John could feel the warmth of his breath through his slacks. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine unzipping his slacks and pressing himself against parted lips.

 

In the club Rodney had allowed his attention and touches, had accepted John’s hand on his thigh with a shy smile. He hadn’t originally intended to come on to the kid like he had, he just needed to get a closer look and a name. He had just been so pretty…

 

Rodney’s eyes fluttered and John wondered if Rodney was awake and just teasing him. He dismissed the thought. Rodney would never; he probably hated John for ending his vacation and bringing him home to his father and a likely punishment.

 

He put his hand on Rodney’s head, gently pushed him away, did _not_ think about unzipping his pants and shoving his cock in that warm mouth and—

 

Rodney jerked awake. “Wha? What’re you…?”

 

John’s heart was pounding, he felt sick, guilty. “You were dreaming. Go back to sleep.” Ronon caught his eye in the rearview, raised his eyebrow, and John had never hated himself more.

 

Rodney blinked dazedly and he must not have been fully awake, and was likely still drunk from the drinks John had plied him with at the club, because he fell right back asleep with his head against the window.

 

Ronon pulled over shortly after that. “It was a mistake to leave this late at night. We need sleep.”

 

John nodded still dazed and vaguely ill. “Right.”

 

“I’ll share the backseat with the kid. You sleep in the front,” said with a firmness that allowed no objections.

 

John nodded. When he finally fell asleep, he didn’t dream.

 

 

*******

 

The next morning they let Rodney wander off, not too far, to relieve himself in the bushes. John was looking at his shoes when Ronon spoke.

 

“What’s gotten into you?”

 

“Ronon.”  John tried to warn even as his gut twisted.

 

“You could have killed him last night.”

 

“It was an accident,” John said sharply. He didn’t explain that he wanted Rodney to fight, to shun death and crave life. It didn’t seem good enough right then.

 

Ronon stared at him, eyes narrow and John pointedly didn’t look away. Just then Rodney walked up, his eyes downcast. “Can we get some breakfast?”

 

***

 

In the diner Rodney kept his coat on with the collar flipped up to hide the bruises on his neck. John couldn’t look at him, couldn’t _stop_ looking at him and Rodney didn’t seem to notice.

 

They sat in a corner booth and ordered. Before the food came Rodney said with near hysterical desperation, “I’ll make you a deal.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out what was left of his cash and put it on the table in front of John. “Drop me off at the train station and it’s yours.”

 

John raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t I just take it now?”

 

Rodney scowled. “You uncivilized... I can’t believe I thought you had even _half_ a brain.” Rodney angrily stuffed the money back into his pocket.

 

Rodney seemed sullen but ravenous. When the food came he ate like it was his last meal, taking big bites of his waffle and long swallows of his drink. John tried hard not to watch, not to look at the pale skin, the delicate line of this throat as he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing, and how fucked up was it that he even thought the bruises were beautiful?

 

Apparently it was _very_ fucked up because Ronon growled at him, _actually growled_ , before stabbing into his steak and eggs deliberately. Sheppard looked down at his plate in disgust, hunger gone.  He finished his coffee, nearly gagging at the taste of it and slammed his mug down. “I’ll be in the car,” John rasped, grabbed his jacket off the back of the booth and stalked outside.

 

*******

John drove the entire day, Ronon in the back seat with Rodney just in case he decided to jump into traffic and wasn’t that a pleasant thought? Just another testament to how messed up the kid was.

 

He turned on the radio in attempt to drown out his thoughts and something slow and sad and unmistakably jazzy came out of the speakers and he almost snapped the knob off in attempt to shut it off.

 

In the rearview Rodney was looking at him with big hurt crystalline eyes and John hadn’t felt so strongly about another man since he was in the army and…no. That wasn’t right. Rodney wasn’t even a _man_ ; he was still a wet behind the ears boy.  The thought was jarring, so much so in fact that John swerved off the road a little, arms locking up, vision going white and they almost ended up in a ditch.

 

Ronon took over then, maneuvering John into the back seat. “I’m going to find a hotel.”

 

***

 

The room had two beds. Rodney got one while Ronon and John flipped a coin for the other. John won and Ronon grumbled, went to sleep in the chair by the door.

 

John laid awake for hours, and tried not to start when Rodney slipped into his bed.

 

“At the club,” Rodney whispered.  “You wanted me. Y-you weren’t just trying to find out who I was. If you were you wouldn’t have touched me the way you did. You wouldn’t look at me the way you do.”

 

“So?” John tried for aloof but Rodney was in his fucking bed and… he couldn’t kick him out, didn’t want to even _think_ of losing the heat coming from him.

 

“So,” Rodney repeated. “Have me.”

 

“No,” John croaked out forcefully.

 

“Take me with you,” Rodney whispered, a desperate plea that he couldn’t suppress. “Don’t take me back to my old life. Take me with you.”

 

John forced himself to scoff and say, “And what would I do with you?” even though he knew _exactly_ what he would do with Rodney.

 

And it seemed Rodney knew too, because he pressed his thin body closer to John’s, blatantly offering himself even though he couldn’t possibly know what John was capable of taking.

 

John wasn’t a weak willed man, but there was only so much he could _take_ , so much he could deny himself before he just couldn’t deny anymore. When he put his hands on Rodney there was nothing tentative about it. John pulled Rodney flush against himself, decided he liked how that felt and rolled on top, pressing Rodney into the mattress and holding him there.

 

“You think you’re ready for this?” John asked, making sure that Rodney felt how hard he was by grinding his hips down.

 

Rodney nodded; eyes steady and cheeks flushed. “Take me. I want you to.”

 

John’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head and he crushed his lips against Rodney’s, tasting him for the first time. _“It can’t go further than this,”_ John told himself even as Rodney pulled him closer, thrust up against him, and Rodney was just as hard as John was. He moaned into Rodney’s mouth and bore down, Rodney was warm and sweet and John sucked on his tongue, broke the kiss and bit at one of the bruises on Rodney’s neck, bruises _he_ had put there.

 

“Yes,” Rodney whispered, pleaded, hands clutching at John’s hair.

 

When John reached between them and squeezed Rodney’s cock through his boxers Rodney froze, arched up into John’s hand and came with a shuddery gasp.

 

John reached into his own boxers then, too lust dazed to think straight, and brought himself off right on Rodney’s bare stomach while Rodney watched, reached down and tangled his hand with John’s and helped pull the orgasm out of him and John came harder than he ever had in his life.

 

“So hot.” Rodney’s lips were red and kiss swollen and John couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and devouring that mouth, losing himself in Rodney’s sweetness.

 

When he broke the kiss Rodney sighed, “John.” And just like that the spell was broken.

 

He pulled away from Rodney with a jerk and lay back on the bed, eyes closed so he couldn’t see the hurt on Rodney’s face. “Clean yourself up and go back to bed.”

 

“John?” Rodney’s voice was confused and broken sounding. John hadn’t meant for things to go that far. He just wanted… he didn’t know what he wanted.

 

He rolled, facing away from Rodney and after a few seconds he felt Rodney get up, heard the bathroom door close. He pretended to sleep then, and when the bathroom door opened and closed again he pretended he couldn’t hear Rodney’s muffled sobs from the other bed.

 

***

 

The next day John found it hard not to just _take_ Rodney. To kiss him and fuck him until he couldn’t walk and… John gave himself a shake. Rodney’s hair was sleep mussed and his eyes were hollow and dark.

 

Ronon stretched and popped his back. “Rodney, why don’t you take a shower before we get going?”

 

He looked almost grateful at the suggestion and grabbed some clothes to change into after his shower.

 

Ronon stood silently until they heard the water running and then turned to John, grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him into the wall. “Taking him back to his father probably isn’t the right thing to do, but I’m pretty sure you fucking him isn’t either.”

 

John flushed so hard he was dizzy with it. “I—I _didn’t_.”

 

“I heard you last night.” Ronon growled. “He’s confused John, you’re only making it worse.”

 

“ _He’s_ confused?” John pulled away roughly and paced the room, stalking like a caged animal. “I feel like I’m going crazy, Ronon! I-I, from the first moment I saw him I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.  I want him to want to live, I want him to _want_ to live _with_ me _for_ me and fuck you and fuck his fucking father and…” John sat heavily on the bed he and Rodney had briefly shared the night before. “And… fuck.”

 

“John,” Ronon shook his head sadly. “John, you can’t keep him. You can’t fix him. Not like this.”

 

“I know,” John put his head in his hands. “I _know_.”

 

 ***

 

When they got to his father’s Rodney didn’t look hurt or betrayed, he just looked _empty_ and it broke John’s heart a little.

 

“Thank you so much, gentlemen.” Rodney’s dad said and he looked haggard and drawn, like he hadn’t slept since Rodney left. He handed them a check and John couldn’t even look at it. Turned away and Ronon grabbed it with a gruff, “Welcome.”

 

“I hope you’ve come to your senses,” Rodney’s father said and John couldn’t listen. He stumbled outside, took a deep breath and ended up vomiting in the bushes.

 

***

 

The incident with Carson had hit the papers right after it happened and no one would hire him. Rodney was once again forced to take on the role of the wife in his father’s home. He cooked and cleaned and pressed his father’s clothes. His entire life was consumed by mundane household duties and false repentance. Sometimes Rodney could hear the whistle of a train and dreamt of being on it, or under it, but mostly he dreamt of John.

 

***

 

John looked terrible and Ronon told him so. _Often_.

 

“Thanks big guy, just what I needed to hear.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

The phone on John’s desk rang and John stared into space, not hearing it

 

“What’s wrong with you?”

 

John swallowed and looked at his desk, looked back up and his eyes were haunted. “I have to see him.”

 

It had been months since they had dropped Rodney off at his father’s and John hadn’t been the same since… since they _met_ Rodney if he wanted to be honest with himself, and Ronon got it. Finally understood John’s torment, his sleeplessness, why that fucking check _still hadn’t been cashed_. “You’re in love with him.”

 

John flinched but stayed silent. That was all the answer he needed.

 

Ronon tossed John the keys. “Bring him back with you.”

 

 

***

 

John walked onto the McKay’s porch and rang the bell. He still didn’t know what he was going to say. ‘ _Is Rodney home?’_ Or, _‘I’m taking your son.’_ Or, _‘Keep your money and I’ll keep the boy.’_

 

Rodney’s father was slow to answer the door and when he did John was shocked at what he saw. The man was tired and worn, looking worse than he had when he first approached John asking for help finding his son.

 

“Detective Sheppard?”

 

“What happened?” John was shaking. “Where’s Rodney?”

 

The man gasped or sobbed and hid his face, turning deeper into the house, John followed. “He tried to hang himself. Twice,” he choked out and John went cold. “I didn’t know what to do. He--he’s all I have, detective.”

 

“Where is he?” John whispered. The house was dark and so, _so_ empty.

 

“I had him committed.” The man swallowed. He looked at John with haunted eyes, eyes so much like Rodney’s. “I can’t bring myself to visit. I-I’ve already lost him.”

 

“Where is he?” John asked more forcefully.

 

“There’s a hospital,” Rodney’s father walked deeper into the house, away from John. “At the top of the hill outside of town.” He came back and handed John a bundle of papers and a card with the hospital’s address on top.

 

John looked at the papers in his hands. “These are…”

 

“Suicide notes. Addressed to you.” Rodney’s father looked haunted still. “He never bothered saying goodbye to anyone but you.”

 

John headed for the door, away from that frigid empty house and to his car.

 

He drove fast and recklessly to the hospital, screeching to a halt in front of the gates and jogged up the pathway to the hospital, the _institution_ , looming above.

 

There were people milling in the courtyard, all wearing the same uniforms, pale blue cotton almost like pajamas like they were all at some sort of demented slumber party. Some of the patients were talking to themselves, some rocking back and forth, some deformed, blind, or crippled. Rodney didn’t belong there.

 

Rodney. He was right there, sitting on a bench bathed in the sunlight, holding a book in one hand while he leaned his head on the other.

 

John walked up to him slowly, afraid a sudden movement might make Rodney disappear. “Rodney,” he whispered when he was close enough to touch.

 

He didn’t know what he had expected. A tearful reunion? Hugging? Rodney running into his arms? Rodney just looked up incomprehensively for a moment, blinking into the sunlight. “John?”

 

The book dropped and Rodney’s hand fell from his temple. John gasped at the burns there. He dropped down beside Rodney, fingertips ghosting over his temples. “What did they do to you?”

 

“Electroshock,” Rodney said calmly. “It’s supposed to make me happy.” A bitter laugh. “Can you imagine that?”

 

John shook his head and touched Rodney’s face gently. “I can imagine you happy,” John said softly. “But not here.”

 

“Where then?” Rodney’s eyes darted up, looked into John’s.

 

He seemed a little fuzzy around the edges, not quite himself, but John guessed electricity zapped directly into your brain would do that to a person. He held back his anger at the thought and stroked Rodney’s cheek gently with his thumb. “With me. I think I could make you happy if you let me.”

 

John held his breath as Rodney processed, eyes glassy and drugged. “Really?” His voice cracked and a tentative half smile played on his lips. Rodney looked as though he hadn’t smiled in a long time.

 

“Really.”

 

“Oh,” Rodney reached out tentatively, as if John was an illusion he didn’t want to break. “I-I thought… I was afraid you stopped wanting me, that night when we…”

 

“No.” John pulled Rodney close and kissed the side of his neck, his cheek, the burn mark at his temple. “Never stopped wanting you. I’ll never stop,” he whispered.

 

Rodney held back sob, John could feel his body trembling beneath his hands and he stood, pulling Rodney with him. Together they left the institution and loneliness behind.

 

END


End file.
